


Four Holidays Spent Apart, and One that Wasn't

by blackchaps



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Holidays, M/M, Pining, Romance, not canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Check the title. Season One - before Bear
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46
Collections: POI Advent 2020





	Four Holidays Spent Apart, and One that Wasn't

***October

"I hate this not-an-actual holiday," Harold spat, clutching his coat a bit tighter. 

John, who'd been carefully matching his steps and watching for trouble, raised his eyebrows at the tone, but he wasn't going to argue the point. It was a children's holiday that had somehow been taken over by young adults. All of whom were very obnoxious. 

Harold actually sighed in relief when he was behind his desk with a tea in hand. 

Showing his amusement would be a terrible idea. John didn't take off his coat, but he settled onto a chair to check his phone.

"Are we in for the night?" Harold sounded hopeful.

"Zoe texted me." John was fairly sure he didn't imagine the scowl that flitted across Harold's face. "She needs security tonight."

"I take that to mean you're accompanying her to a party." Harold wasn't looking at him, now. "Have a good evening. Please don't become a Halloween statistic."

"Sure." It was time to go. He eased up, feeling as if he should say something. "Harold, I --."

"Goodnight, Mr. Reese," Harold interrupted, dismissing him. John put his gaze on his shoes and left.

***November

John hated this damn day. When he'd lived overseas, it hadn't been a problem, but now? The overt fawning over service members, waving of flags, and non-stop media coverage that meant absolutely nothing made him want to punch anyone who had the temerity to thank him for his service.

"John?" Harold didn't look away from his computer. "It's apparent we aren't getting a number today."

It was half past eight a.m., and that meant nothing, but John heard something in Harold's tone that made him narrow his eyes.

"Why don't you...?"

That was more than enough, and John was up, grabbing his coat, and striding away. He didn't hear the rest of the sentence, and he didn't care. It'd would've been great to hide in the Library all day, maybe wallow in a book while keeping an eye on Harold. But once Harold started _suggesting_ things, it was all downhill from there. John stopped for another coffee, and then went directly to a liquor store. He bought a bottle of whiskey and caught a cab home.

His earbud clicked over about the time he sprawled on the couch. "Finch."

"I apologize. I didn't intend to be bossy, Mr. Reese."

"Not a problem." John hung up and tossed the phone and ear bud away. The quiet of the apartment settled over him, and he drank.

***Still November

"Hey, Tall, Dark and Scary." Fusco always grinned when he said it. "Wha'cha doin' for Turkey Day?"

John considered just walking away. The number was finished, and he needed to maintain his image that he was far more dangerous than Fusco could handle. But he hadn't realized the holiday was this week. "Inviting me over, Lionel?"

"I'd rather eat alone." Fusco tapped his chest with his fist. "Less heartburn. Just being polite. Don't remember why."

Walking away long before the last sentence was out of Fusco's mouth was easy as pumpkin pie. Fusco loved to poke at him, gently, because while he was afraid of John's bite, Fusco had no fear of the barking. Maybe, someday, Fusco would pull it together and turn into a good cop. Probably not this year, but maybe someday, if he didn't get shot.

It wasn't until he was halfway to the Library that he realized Thanksgiving meant the Macy's parade, and the reality of doing his job around parade floats and bands made him groan. Unfortunately, Harold was listening.

"Are you alright, Mr. Reese? I thought the number had concluded?" Harold did sound worried.

"I'm fine, just contemplating chasing the bad guy through a high school band." John carefully didn't remember his childhood Thanksgivings, but his grandma's stuffing had been beyond amazing. He couldn't help but wonder if he could re-create it without a recipe.

"Oh." Harold didn't disconnect, but he didn't say anything else.

As usual, John picked up coffee and tea before sneaking in the back way. He really needed to make a third entrance that wasn't visible from the street. Thinking about building schematics and the neighbors, John put the tea down with a small smile. "You sent Fusco the evidence?"

"Of course!" Harold looked slightly ruffled at the idea that he could forget a detail. His hair was very spiked today, and John stuffed his hands in his pockets so he didn't smooth it down.

"So, another one done." John wandered over to a bookcase and considered what he was reading, and where he'd left it. If it was in that Buick, it was gone for good. Awkward words about the holiday and sharing a meal were right on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated.

"Yes, and please feel free to join Detective Fusco at his table." Harold straightened his tie, which he only did when he was nervous. "Harold Crane usually attends a fundraiser at his club. We raise money for a group of homeless shelters."

"That's real nice," John said, swallowing his emotions, so glad he was turned mostly away. He pulled a random book and forced something other than a grimace on his face. It was interesting that Harold stepped into the role of Harold Crane, billionaire eccentric. Were any of the Harolds the real one? He probably had spreadsheets detailing character traits and assets. John could admire it from an operative standpoint. Harold could teach classes at The Farm, and John was endlessly curious about which personality quirks he saw were real. Did Harold really dislike guns? Did he really like tea?

Harold cradled his tea to his chest, and John decided that couldn't be faked. Disgusted at his own neediness, John opened the book, waited until Harold looked away, and faded behind a row of bookcases, leaving the building and all his questions behind.

***December

After the tenth terrible rendition of Silent Night, John was desperately missing his quiet chicken dinner and Wild Turkey at Thanksgiving. He slumped further down the car seat and hoped his target appeared soon.

"Perhaps we'd both be happier if you parked somewhere there wasn't Christmas music being piped on an exterior speaker."

It took actual effort not to snarl at him. This was the best place for line of sight, and as torture went, it was milder than electricity. John scrubbed his face, forced his spine straight to hear the pops, and popped open his small cooler. He ate the sandwich in four bites and sipped at his water, not too much.

"Is this a wild goose chase? Would your time be better spent somewhere else?" Harold was just spitballing, not comfortable with radio silence.

"Out singing Christmas carols?" John thought he was on the right track. "She'll show up. She has limited options." And she was smart, so she'd be here. "You should go home. Get some sleep. You may need to take over in the morning."

John didn't mean it, but it sometimes got Harold out of the Library. There was the sound of rustling, and John smirked. Harold was going home.

"I'll keep the line open, Mr. Reese. Be careful," Harold said.

"Sure." John wiggled his back and stretched his legs. The Christmas music abruptly switched off, and he took a deep breath, able to think again. Christmas was two days away, and he knew he'd spent it alone, but he'd wanted to buy Harold a small gift. What could an eccentric billionaire possibly want or need? A nice bottle of liquor wouldn't be well-received. All Harold seemed to like was tea, and John couldn't open a stand in the Library. And that's when he got it. He'd set up a kitchen area, so Finch could make his tea. Using his phone, John started shopping.

When Christmas day dawned, John pronounced himself satisfied. The number was home safe, and he'd finished the mini-kitchen. The room was clean, all the appliances were top-of-the-line, and the cabinet was stocked with tea, sugar, and some quality beans for coffee. Choosing the mugs had been the hardest part, and he'd gone to a second-hand shop to buy an assortment, some with stupid sayings and others that he'd just found interesting. The China teacup and matching saucer with the birds was nothing but bait.

"We don't have a number, Mr. Reese." Harold was dressed in what had to be a new suit, and the color looked good on him. John forced himself to stop looking, going with a shrug and awkward silence. While Harold settled in at his desk, John gathered his few items, double-checking he had a full clip, and considered his words carefully.

"Merry Christmas, Harold," John said, and he got his feet moving, managing to clear the doorway and the building without hearing a reply. His phone stayed silent, and he took a deep breath. His hotel room wasn't far away, and he indulged in a shower before hitting the bed. With any luck, Christmas would be over when he woke up.

***Last of December/First of January

New York had lost its mind, and John abandoned his cab, tipping well, so he could walk the rest of the way. Dodging in and out of people, he used his long legs to his advantage to get to the safety and quiet of his latest hotel room. Since it was New Year's Eve, he'd splurged on the executive suite. After all, he'd lived another year he'd expected to be dead, and he deserved a good shower and a jacuzzi after that last number. He'd spend this holiday alone, just like all the others this year, and he was fine with that.

"Mr. Reese?"

"I'm headed to ground." John didn't slow down. "Unless there's another number?"

"No." Harold hesitated. "Are you available this evening? If you have an engagement with Miss Morgan--."

"I'm not going out with Zoe," John interrupted, irritated. "I had a shower planned, nothing else."

"Oh."

And Harold went radio silent. John tipped the doorman of his hotel and turned his face to avoid cameras until he was in the elevator. He considered calling Harold back to figure out what was going on, but the blood trickling down inside his shirt wanted him to get to the first aid kit. It wasn't serious, just a quick stab, but the shirt was ruined. 

The bathroom was heaven, and John took his time, putting in a single stitch and swallowing a mild painkiller. The double-headed shower was amazing, and the fifteen minutes in the jacuzzi made him feel like a noodle in a good way. The robe the hotel provided was sinful, and he hated to leave the bathroom, but he needed food.

"Mr. Reese."

"Harold." John's pulse spiked, but he kept his tone mild. "You locked up?"

"Of course." Harold settled a napkin in his lap. "I thought we might have dinner together."

"I'm a bit under-dressed." John tried to make sure the robe was secure without looking like he was worried. Something sparked in Harold's eyes, and John sat down across from him, hoping the stitch wasn't visible.

"Did you wash the blood out of the shirt in cold water?"

"I threw it away. It was missing a few buttons as well." John's stomach growled at the delicious smells under the silver service. "What do I owe for all this?"

Harold huffed and started serving the food, all proper manners, and John felt like it was dinner and a show. "We could've met at the diner, Harold."

"It's New Year's Eve, and I thought we deserved a bit more than a diner." Harold finished up and sat back down. "I dropped the ball at Christmas, so I was hoping we could share this holiday together."

John filled his mouth with food so he didn't have to answer. Harold had thanked him several times for the work done to make a small kitchen. It had almost been embarrassing. Harold was actually eating instead of picking at his food, and John wiped his mouth before saying, "We could always head out to the ball drop."

"And mingle with tourists?" Harold sounded horrified. "Do you even have a clean shirt?"

"Maybe." John had left most of his clothes in his car, traveling light. He probably had a sweatshirt in his bag. His robe gaped open a bit, and he saw Harold's eyes move there, and John didn't imagine the small flush. Something had changed. Harold had changed, and John wanted to know why, why now. "Harold?"

"I realized, after Christmas, that I was..." Harold trailed off, and then when John didn't prompt him, finished, "confused, I suppose. I knew we were growing closer, but I didn't know if you felt anything for me, beyond what I'd consider normal."

John stopped chewing. He'd been with him up until the end. "I'm not normal?"

"Not if you're interested in me." Harold didn't look embarrassed to say it. "I'm very much a unique dish on the menu."

"I think I've acquired a taste for it." John was sure of it. "You ditched me at Thanksgiving."

"I did, and I neglected you terribly at Christmas. You have my sincere apology." Harold stared down at the remains of his steak. "Perhaps you'd let me make it up to you."

"Perhaps I will." John couldn't stop the slow grin that broke over his face. "Am I dreaming, passed out on the bathroom floor from blood loss?" He could believe that easier than Harold's words.

"No, but let me check that stitch." Harold wiped his mouth and came around the table, gently folding the robe back. "First aid kit?"

"Still in the bathroom." John was a trifle light-headed at the touch. He had a bad feeling that he'd do anything, make any promise, to get Harold's talented hands on his body. Harold was back quickly, cleaning the wound again and fussing over a bandage. John fiddled with his fork and tried not to want to steal a kiss. "Better?"

"Yes. Knives are filthy things." Harold dropped a small kiss on the top of John's shoulder. "Duck a little faster."

"Yes, sir." John kissed the inside of Harold's wrist. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Harold's eyes shined at him. "If it helps at all, I missed you at Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, it was gloomy." John didn't want to dwell on it. "Let's start a new year, maybe one together?"

"More than a maybe." Harold tugged at John's robe, exposing more skin. "I know midnight is still several hours away, but we could start early."

"I knew you were a genius." John got to his feet, careful not to bump him and pointed at the far end of the room where the big bed was waiting. "Let's go there."

Harold smiled and took a good hold of the tie of John's robe. John followed him with no hesitation. It was possible that Harold had planned all this out in advance because he certainly seemed to know exactly what he was doing. When John lay gasping, wrecked, he noticed Harold was barely missing his coat.

"That is not fair."

"If you think you're going to manhandle me out of this suit, think again." Harold stroked a hand down John's face. "I'd like to try your jacuzzi. Would you like to learn how to valet?"

John took a shuddering breath, so glad it was a new year. "Sounds fun."

***End


End file.
